


D.K. and the Unfortunate Absence

by Nestra



Category: Farscape
Genre: Gen, Pastiche, farscape_friday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-10
Updated: 2004-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-02 06:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nestra/pseuds/Nestra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Farscape meets Bertie Wooster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	D.K. and the Unfortunate Absence

I ask you, what is a fellow to do when he steps out of his conveyance and discovers himself on a strange-looking vessel that resembles an unholy matrimony between Brighton Pier and a vaudeville experiment gone wrong? It was all simply too bally to be believed. However, as there was no one else in sight and no sign of imminent rescue by any friendly party, I bucked myself up and sallied forth unto the breach.

After finding a likely looking door-shaped thingummy, I discovered happily that it was in actual fact a door. The elation dissipated somewhat when a fearsome creature swung around and snarled at me like an ill-tempered terrier.

"What ho!" I assayed. Silence met this genial greeting of mine. Having no other option but to continue, I did. "I say, did you know you've got rather a frightful lot of tentacles about your head?"

The creature's face darkened in an expression that would have done credit to my Aunt Agatha, if she were faced with the simultaneous invasion of a barbarian horde and a lot of American tourists clamoring to see the family portraits. "What ho!" I added, in hopes of establishing some sort of rapprochement.

The sudden appearance of a sluglike sluggy thing hovering in the air and another creature dappled like a blue roan, except far more blue, did nothing to aid the establishment of diplomatic relations. Relations were firmly arrested, in fact, by the intersection of the tentacled lout's tongue with my head.

I awoke in an entirely different location than the one I'd previously inhabited, never an encouraging sign. Once, a few years ago, there had been an incident involving a May Day weekend, Bingo Little, a constable's hat, tulip bulbs, and a very old bottle of port, but the details are perhaps best left to the misty halls of memory. My current incident was turning rather more gloomy than a fellow might wish, and I felt the conspicuous absence of D.K. D.K. is the sort of chap that materializes at your elbow, quiet as cigar smoke, when you least expect it but most desire it. He also has a cracking talent for getting my person out of scrapes, through the application of his prodigious brainpower. I am no mental slouch, despite the slanderous implications that Aunt Agatha occasionally levels, but when one finds one's self in a spot that one rather desperately wishes one was not a participant in, D.K. is one's man.

My surroundings -- or, in the strict type of fact generally insisted on by magistrates and rich relations -- my cell was home to another occupant. We intruded upon each other's notice at roughly the same time.

"Hallo!" I said, flailing a cheerful wave in his direction.

This second attempt at a civilized conversation fared no better than the first had, in rather the same sense that Napoleon's military career had progressed. He suffered a grand defeat but rallied to fight again, after which he was roundly smacked about at Waterloo and sent off for a second and slightly more fatal encounter with said defeat. For a moment, I mourned the loss of the family name, since the family heir was currently pinned to the floor by an extraordinarily irritated woman.

"A female!" I croaked in surprise. "Madam, I say, is there any way you could remove your knee from my windpipe?" You may be surprised that I could manage such a speech. I was rather surprised myself. Despite my heroic effort, however, the pressure increased, and I was stuck, as it were, between floor and knee, neither of which showed any immediate plans to yield.

As Unmanly Panic and Looming Unconsciousness had their brazen way with me, I thought I heard a voice. It was not the voice of an archangel welcoming me into the afterlife, for which I was rather grateful, despite the promise of eternal bliss. Instead, it sounded like D.K. I distinctly heard him say, "If I remember the basic laws of physics, sir, I might suggest the practical application of the principle of leverage."

Leverage. The man was, as always, brilliant. I wiggled an arm around, wedged it under a convenient body part, and huffed and puffed until her upside quarreled with her downside. That is to say, she fell over.

I stood, gratefully renewing my acquaintance with Oxygen and giving Looming Unconsciousness a kick out the door. True, my situation had not markedly improved, but what at any other time would have been a sign of incipient cracking-up now reassured me. D.K. had spoken to me, and would no doubt do so again. And D.K. always knew what to do.


End file.
